


Warm Milk

by sleepinnude



Category: Glee
Genre: Infidelity, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepinnude/pseuds/sleepinnude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine and Sam get carried away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Milk

Sam usually has no trouble sleeping in strange beds. Especially with all the moving around that happened recently; he learned to adapt. He’s an easy-to-please sort of guy, really. But this is different because he misses his mom. He doesn’t care how that sounds, he misses his mom and his dad and his brother and sister. No amount of tossing and turning and pillow-punching will help that.

So, with a glance to the clock — burning 3:07 into the dark and thank god it was at least a weekend — Sam swings his legs over the side of the bed and shuffles down the stairs. He’ll just get a glass of water and will not cry and clear his head a little and then get to sleep, hopefully before the sun rises, that’s his plan. Rounding the doorway to the kitchen, he sees the faint glow of the refrigerator open and pauses a moment, rocking on the balls of his feet. After deciding that no, a burglar wouldn’t stop at the fridge for a snack, he moves in, making a little too much noise so as not to sneak up on whoever the late-night snacker was.

A rumpled, curly-head pops up over the door of the refrigerator and Sam smiles softly. “Hungry, Blaine?” he asks easily.

Blaine gives a drowsy laugh and shakes his head. He closes the fridge, holding up the jug of milk. “Sleepy, but can’t quite get there. Kurt swears by warm milk which…” he shrugged incredulously. “But I figured it was worth a shot.”

Sam laughed a little, nodding. “Yeah, I can’t seem to shut my mind off either.”

Blaine gives a sympathetic look and pads across the room, to the cupboard. “Would you like some too?” he offers and, at Sam’s affirmative hum, sets to glasses to the counter.

They end up on the couch with their glasses, Blaine slumped against one armrest and Sam sprawled near his feet. It’s been fairly quiet between them, comfortable enough, with the dim of too-early morning settled over the house. Sam breaks it with a nervous “Um,” and Blaine looks up, straightening a little. Sam fiddles with his glass, running a finger over the rim, before continuing, “I…never really apologized.”

Blaine gives a gentle laugh and shakes his head. “You did. Enough. I mean, it’s not like you were the one being a total jerk.”

Sam swallows and shakes his head and sets his glass to the side. “No. I was. I totally was, and it wasn’t about you, not really.”

Blaine shifts and their axes have polarized; their leaning in to each other rather than pitched from each other. “Yeah… Neither was… I mean, I was more upset about other things going on. I took it out on you, mostly, which isn’t fair.”

Sam licks his lips, “Yeah, exactly. Me too, I mean.”

There’s a quiet moment between them and Blaine catches Sam’s eyes, smiling. He bumps their shoulders together. “Hey, whatever, right? We worked it out and won Sectionals out of it.”

Sam returns the grin, nodding. “Hell yeah, we did!” They bump fists and Sam breaks into a laugh. Blaine hasn’t ducked away yet, is still leaning against Sam’s side, head dropped sleepily to his shoulder. Sam chuckles and reaches across himself to ruffle through Blaine’s curls. Blaine males a noise that’s half a laugh and half an appreciative hum, bucking into Sam’s touch.

“Yeah, I think it’s bedtime for you, bud,” Sam intones softly, nudging him.

“Kurt was right about the warm milk,” Blaine mumbles out. Apparently, Sam learns, the dude is a cuddler too, because he fits his face into Sam’s neck and just noses there a minute. Sam bites down on his lower lip and hard because he’s a strong guy but seriously. And then Blaine’s hands are fisting in Sam’s shirt and Sam is tensing up and there’s a definite shift in the air. Blaine’s face is out from Sam’s warm skin and their eyes are meeting and the sleep is gone from both of them.

“Blaine,” Sam says and it’s a plea but he doesn’t know which way it’s for. There’s a soft moment where neither of them move and Sam groans briefly, protests, “We can’t, Blaine.”

And, in direct violation of that, Blaine kisses him.

He doesn’t do anything to remedy the situation, though. He just kisses back, hands moving to slot over the sides of Blaine’s face, catching him close and keeping him there. Blaine’s fingers dig into the material of his tee shirt, over his chest and they’re kissing sloppily, without any rhyme or rhythm to it. They break and part and ebb and Sam mutters a “Really shouldn’t,” between two kisses but Blaine bites his words away and Sam is whining into his mouth.

They’re another shift, from tension hanging in a spinning balance to the snapped cord of them singing through the hot hair and sending blood to boil. So that Sam can span a hand down between Blaine’s shoulders and grip his tee shirt and yank as he drops himself back. Blaine ends up sprawled over Sam and they’re moving. Blaine is biting harsh into Sam’s neck and, judging by the vibrations that make Sam’s entire body tremble, it’s to muffle his moans. Muffle them because Kurt is sleeping just upstairs oh god. There’s a squeal of panic and guilt rushing through Sam’s system but he’s also fucking up against the hard line of Blaine’s erection so that clouds his moral compass a little.

He has an arm locked over Blaine’s shoulders and has one hand fisted so tightly in his hair that it’s actually a little painful but fuck if he’s going to tell him to stop.

They ride each other out, ride each other, and everything is building and running rampant through them, tearing at their lungs and battering against their ribs. Sam can’t breathe and can’t see and can’t think straight and Blaine is whimpering against his collarbone and it all sort of freezes in a way that curdles the warm milk in his stomach when there’s the soft call of “Blaine?”

Blaine stills above him, breathing suddenly gone quick and stuttery and there are footsteps on the stairs and Sam thinks quick and shoves them off balance, upsets their keels and gets Blaine on his back, holding himself over him.

Adrenaline is still surging through him from the close call he had with an orgasm and then Kurt is at the bottom of the staircases and Sam forces a laugh out. Kurt is sleep-slack and there’s clear confusion written over his face. Blaine, beneath him, is shaking and looks broken, looks so fucking scared that Sam’s older brother instincts surge to smooth his hair back and tug him to his chest and pet his spine. Sam laughs against and Kurt asks, “Sam?” so he looks up at that, grinning somehow.

“Hey, man,” he greets and he’s blushing and his pupils are blown wide but it’s dim and Kurt is barely half-awake so he figures it’s okay. “Sorry, d’we wake you?”

Kurt’s head tilts to the side and asks again, “Blaine? What’s goin’ on?”

Blaine is frozen and still shaking and on the verge of tears, Sam is sure, so Sam claps him on the shoulder, laughing again. “We got into a fight. Blaine here thinks that Iron Man could kick Captain America’s ass and, I’m sorry, dude, but someone had to set him straight.”

Beneath him, Blaine exhales.

Sam turns back to Kurt, one hand soothing over Blaine’s chest, hidden from Kurt’s sight. “Sorry if we woke you.”

Kurt shakes his head and rubs a hand over his face, looking a little more awake. “S’okay.” He yawns and then passes an incredulous look to Sam. “Comic books? Again?” Sam laughs and he practically chokes on it. Blaine is presses up then and Sam moves aside to let him. Kurt grins at the sight of him. “I’m going back to bed,” he says, turning. “Coming?” he calls, coyly.

“Yes,” Blaine answers, jumpily. His hands are still trembling and Sam knows. He swallows and Blaine stands and Kurt is back up the stairs. “Fuck,” he swears and it’s a little-kid voice, it’s lost.

“I know,” Sam says and he almost reaches for Blaine but he thinks better of it. “I know. Hey. Tomorrow.” He exhales and stands as well, too hot and skin too tight. “We can talk tomorrow and…” Tell Kurt. They had to. Fuck, Sam felt something twist like sludge within him as it all crashes around his ears. “Tomorrow, okay, in the morning. Promise.”

Blaine nods and his eyes are distant. “Fuck. Fuck, how am I supposed to sleep next to him now?” His voice is desperate and strung tight and Sam winces for him.

“Just…” He shakes his head and shoves a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he sighs out, because he has no answer, doesn’t know what to say or think or do.

In the end Blaine trails back up the stairs and Sam shuffles from the couch to the kitchen, settling the milk glasses in the sink. He leans against the counter and shuts his eyes, exhaling a moment, certain that he wasn’t getting to sleep at all tonight now.


End file.
